Repair and Recuperation
by Footloose Poets
Summary: Peter is damaged, but isn't panicking. Tony fixes him, and is. Homecoming AU: android Peter and creator Tony


**Hi all.**

 **Please have this android!Peter and creator!Tony AU.**

 **Please note that this fic has been cross-posted on ao3 under Footloose_Poets.**

* * *

It takes only moments for Peter to assess his body: the bus on top of him has crushed his left leg beyond repair and cut off mobility in his right, and his core temperature is now rising – and that's only the critical damage. He registers the threat – the monster terrorising Brooklyn – moving away down the street as the Avengers herd it towards somewhere less populated.

" _Kid, you alright?_ " Tony's voice says from Peter's comm line.

"I think I'm gonna have to sit the rest of this one out, actually," he replies.

" _Send me a report_."

Peter doesn't send it. Tony tends to get distracted by extensive damage reports, and he shouldn't be when he's on a mission.

" _Spider-Man, did you hear me?_ " Tony presses. " _Peter—_ "

"I'm fine," he says quickly. "You're supposed to be saving New York—"

" _FRIDAY, send me his diagnostics report_ ," Tony growls.

Peter sighs. There is silence over the line and he waits.

"Shit _, Peter_."

That's a surprise. Usually he just gets told he's grounded when he withholds reports.

" _Don't move_ ," Tony snaps. " _I'm coming to get you_."

"No! You have to stop the lizard monster."

" _The team can handle it._ "

"But what if they can't? You need to stay until you've stopped it."

" _If I don't get you back to the Tower you're going to overheat_."

"Not for ages," Peter insists. "You've got heaps of time."

He waits for the answer.

"… _Fine_ ," Tony says, but he doesn't sound at all happy about it. " _But you are not to move a single inch, do you understand me? I'm giving FRIDAY clearance to override your systems if you do_ anything _she deems unnecessary for your_ immediate _survival._ "

"That's not fair—"

" _Don't argue with me Peter, I_ will _do it_."

Peter believes him and closes the line. He lets his head drop onto the pavement and waits, defeated. If he wasn't in fear of losing his control, he would lift the bus off his legs with ease. Instead he lies there, staring up at the sky above the building tops and hoping no civilians return before Tony can take him away. It would be difficult to explain why Spider-Man wasn't sobbing in agony or unconscious from the pain of having his legs completely crushed.

It is eighteen minutes and twenty-seven seconds before Iron Man arrives, and Peter passes the time picturing the fight he's missing and periodically measuring his rising temperature. Tony lands right beside him, visor swinging open to reveal a face that's way too anxious.

"You alright, kid?" he asks, eyes dancing between Peter and the bus pinning him down.

"I'm fine," Peter tells him.

Why is he always so worried? FRIDAY would have been giving him constant updates and he should know that Peter is still functioning perfectly.

Well, most of him is.

Tony starts lifting the bus off Peter. Its weight is right up near the suit's full capacity, but mechanical limitations mean little to Tony Stark where his armour is concerned. The vehicle is quickly out of the way and Tony is at Peter's side to inspect the damage.

His left leg is flattened, bent in the wrong direction. The joints have been crushed together so hard that there's no chance of movement. His right leg has fared a lot better, the only real damage being where the bus snapped several connections in his thigh; the leg itself is largely salvageable. The central cooling system – and most of the abdomen that surrounds it – is not, and coolant leaks everywhere from broken piping.

"It's better than it looks," Peter tries.

"Don't talk – don't even think too hard if you can help it." Tony turns his attention to his AI. "FRIDAY, ready my workshop for Peter – I want to get this fixed a-sap."

He carefully lifts Peter up into his arms and they take off. It's a short trip to the Tower by air and as soon as Tony touches down on the helipad he is running towards the elevator. Coolant drips in a trail behind them but Peter's the only one who pays it any mind.

"FRIDAY, my workshop – now," he snaps, even though the elevator starts moving as soon as they step inside.

"Certainly, boss," she replies anyway.

"You're gonna be just fine, kid," Tony tells Peter.

"I know," he says, pulling off his mask.

"You didn't fry your circuits so it's an easy fix."

"Yeah."

"Obviously your left leg's only good for scrap now, but I've already got a replacement for that and your right leg's too easy – but your cooling comes first."

"Uh-huh."

"There's more of course, but if you aren't going to burn up on me we can take our time doing the—

" _Dad_."

That shuts Tony up immediately – it always does.

"It's fine," Peter tells him. "I'm only at 378 Kelvins. I don't start shutting down until 383."

"I know, but—"

"And I have my failsafes anyway," Peter continues. "I'm not going to fry."

There's suddenly a click from his chest and Tony frowns at him accusingly.

"What was that?" he asks.

"Um," Peter grimaces. "My arms disabling."

Tony's face grows pale.

"Only because I don't need them!" Peter quickly adds. "I'm just turning off anything I won't need before you fix me."

"Just stop talking, please."

The elevator arrives at the workshop and Tony is out as soon as the doors open. Peter's mount has been prepared and no time is wasted getting him hooked up.

"FRIDAY, run a full diagnostics report on Peter and monitor his temperature while I work," Tony instructs, stepping out of his armour and taking a closer look at the damage to Peter's abdomen – and cooling system.

"You really did a number on yourself this time, kid," Tony muses grimly. "This is a mess."

"Sorry," Peter murmurs.

He means it. He's honestly not sure why the man gets so worked up about this in the first place, but that doesn't sway his guilt; Tony doesn't need this stress.

"You don't have to be sorry for getting hit." Tony sighs as he pulls on some welding gloves. "I _guess_ you don't even have to be sorry for nearly giving me a heart attack. But you should be sorry for trying to withhold reports. That's not on."

"I only did it because you always make a big—"

"We're not talking about this right now. I need to concentrate."

A lot of their conflicts end like that. Tony pulls his welding helmet down over his face and gets to work with an arc welder. He works in almost total silence. Peter would watch – he always likes watching Tony work, even on him – but his head has been fixed to the mount this time so FRIDAY has a direct link to his systems in the case of an overheat.

 _So_ overprepared.

It only takes an impressive two hours for Tony to repair the cooling system to full working order and he's visibly relieved when he's done. His stress must have taken its toll on him because fatigue greys his features. Peter tells him he should go get some rest and finish the repairs tomorrow, but he refuses and it's not a surprise; Tony never leaves Peter's repairs half finished.

"There's something about leaving my kid on a mount in my workshop overnight that doesn't sit well with me," he says. "Don't know what it could be."

"I'm a robot," Peter points out. "It doesn't bother me to sleep upright."

"You're an _android_ ," Tony corrects him. "And it kind of bothers me."

"But you're tired."

Tony has already pulled his mask down and is about to begin welding, but at Peter's protest he pulls it up again and eyes him suspiciously.

"Why do you always do that?" he asks.

Peter cocks his head in genuine confusion. "What?"

"You try to talk me out of fixing you."

"No I don't."

"You were _just_ doing it, Peter," Tony says sternly. "You've seen me spend eighteen hours straight in my workshop – _more_ , actually – and you don't say a thing. But I want to stay up for a few hours fixing your battle damage and suddenly you're worried that I might be tired?"

Peter blinks several times; it's a part of his emotional programming to have involuntary responses to unexpected information. He analyses his thoughts and pinpoints the recurring theme:

"You get so worried when I get damaged."

Tony sighs heavily. Peter can't determine whether the sigh is sad, tired, or irritated.

"A broken cooling system is serious," he says quietly. "If you overheat you could lose data – I could lose _you_."

"But my data is backed up all the time," Peter insists. "You have my memory in like fifty different places."

That was supposed to reassure Tony, but it doesn't seem to. Now his frown is even deeper, and Peter still can't read what he's feeling.

"It's not…" he trails off and shakes his head. "Just let me fix you."

He pulls his mask down and ends the discussion. He works in silence again, but where before it was out of hard concentration, this is out of… something else. It makes Peter feel a little sad, but he doesn't know what to say or even if he should say anything at all.

Tony is slow and careful in his repairs. He pays close attention to detail and runs calibrations multiple times before he's satisfied. Peter isn't fully restored for over six hours – a long time for Tony Stark – but the job is thorough.

When Peter is released from his mount he wraps his arms around Tony's torso and buries his face in his shoulder. Every one of his sensors fire with recognition of his creator; Tony's heartbeat sounds steadily, his chest expands and deflates with every breath and he is warm against Peter's body, and there's something very safe and reassuring about the absolute certainty that comes with such an extensive reading. Tony returns his hug, arms encircling Peter's shoulders and a calloused hand finding his hair. It's a tighter hug than usual, and it feels like Tony is compiling his own reading of his creation.

"You're important, okay?" Tony tells him, voice quiet. "I don't… I couldn't replace you."

Peter knows that's not objectively true – there are meticulous blueprints and terabytes of backup data for precisely that purpose – but that's not what Tony means.

"I'm sorry, Dad."

Tony doesn't answer, but his embrace gets a little tighter. They remain that way for what feels like a long time. Peter's internal clock times exactly how long that is, but nothing is done with the number; he's using his computing power to process everything he can of Tony and his hug.

Eventually, Tony gives Peter a gentle clap on the back and pulls away.

"Alright, Number Five." He sighs. "Bedtime."

Now that he isn't focussed on work, it's clear that Tony's exhaustion is catching up to him as he leads Peter out of the workshop and towards the elevator. They don't speak until they've arrived on their floor and made it to Peter's bedroom, where Tony murmurs a quiet goodnight and starts towards his own.

"Tony?"

The man stops and turns, eyebrow raised expectantly. Peter has questions - _Why sacrifice sleep just to repair me sooner? Why is my hardware so important? Why are you so careful when I'm so replaceable?_ – but he recalls the drag in Tony's step and decides he's taken enough of his creator's time tonight.

"Thank you for fixing me," he says instead.

If Tony noticed any hesitation, he doesn't say anything. The side of his mouth quirks upward and he huffs a breath of a laugh.

"I'll always fix you, Peter."

It's an extraordinary assertion, but there's nothing in his body language to suggest he isn't sincere and in that moment Peter absolutely believes it.

"Am I grounded?"

"Hmm." Tony screws up his face in mock consideration. "When was the last time I grounded you?"

Peter knows where this is going, and he immediately regrets his question. "Five weeks ago. For two days."

A long time for a walking supercomputer to be confined to his room with no internet or television. Even FRIDAY had been under orders not to engage Peter unnecessarily. Tony insists it had been a perfectly appropriate punishment for failing to return from patrols before curfew twice in a week.

He nods. "I guess we are due for another grounding, then."

Peter's shoulders slump in misery.

"Sorry, Astro." Tony shrugs. "Gotta be a responsible guardian, and that means making sure you don't get spoiled. Only one day this time, though," he adds.

Peter nods. He should take what he can get.

"Now goodnight – for real this time."

"Goodnight, Dad."

* * *

 **And there we go. I have a couple of fic ideas for this AU, and will release them as I make them. Probably on ao3 first, but when I can I will post them at the same time.  
**

 **Please let me know what you think. Thank you for reading, you're awesome :)**


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